Kicking and Screaming
by Bell the Scribe
Summary: She'd wanted to be a Warden, until the night her parents died. But once you're Conscripted, your path is set, no matter how you may fight against it. Now: Old ladies can be really pushy.
1. Prologue and Necessity, Not Personality

Prologue

"You selfish ass!" Aveline Elissa Cousland shrieked, lashing out at the Grey Warden Duncan even as they fled the burning remains of her home, her mabari hot on her heels. The wild punch actually managed to connect, despite the height disadvantage and her clumsy delivery. It was quite obvious the older man had let her hit him, though his jaw might regret the decision later.

The furious girl beat her fists against his armor in a tantrum of pain and loss and shock, until the ever-faithful hound Rollo nearly barreled her off the Warden, pushing her ever further into the forest, the jumble of discarded weaponry and family heirlooms on her back clanking furiously. She admonished the dog severely (she _never_ yelled at her dog), cursing and sputtering and spitting blood, scrambling after that infallible warrior who never stumbled or was tackled by their own bleeding mabari. Not that he had one.

It seemed like ages of anger and mad dashing before he signaled for a stop and she nearly crashed into him bodily. The two of them crouched, panting, both well-exercised but winded from jogging in heavy armor for their lives. For his part, Rollo simply looked anxious.

Before he could move from his crouch and make it nearly impossible for her to reach anything close to vulnerable, Aveline lurched forward again, clumsy fist smacking just under his eye socket. That one was less than allowed, and much more satisfying, even as the man hit her in the chest, knocking the wind from her and sending her flying backwards.

Rollo didn't even help! Why have a mabari if they won't defend you?

Duncan pushed her down into the mud on her stomach, expertly wrenching her wrists behind her. She growled at him, all propriety forgotten. "You blackmailed a dying man! Would you really have left me there to die, if my father had refused?" There was only accusation and venom in her voice, then. And a little bit of wet dirt. "I had said before that I wished to join the Grey Wardens! Yet you shook down a dying man for what possessions he could have."

"I do what I must." Maker, she hated that even, calming tone. No fear, no anger, no sadness. Could the man feel nothing for what he had just done to her?

"You Conscripted me." Fact and accusation, he did not deny it. "I could have helped defend my father and mother, _you_ could have helped, and—"

"And died, a wasted death, forgotten by all as the world turned towards the darkspawn. You are to be a Grey Warden, now, and you will go to Ostagar and perform your duty. I will drag you there kicking and screaming, if I must." Duncan said this as someone might say they were going to go into town, rain be damned. She snapped her head forward, attempting to knock into his. A subtle shift in his weight forced her to bounce her head off of the thick plate armor and Aveline reeled back, slightly dazed. When the spots cleared from her eyes, she realized Duncan had taken one of the myriad belts from around his waist, one of the smaller, suppler ones, and was using it to bind her wrists behind her.

_Fantastic_.

He finished, and initial testing showed it would take a clever rogue to undo such good work, and a rogue she was not. She was a warrior, and she wanted to simply knock his face in until he realized why she would never forgive him.

Thus the forced march from Highever to Ostagar began, Aveline walking most of the way with her hands bound, because at least that was a little more dignified than being carried.

Chapter 1: Necessity, Not Personality

Avi was sick of travelling now, thank you.

Endless walking, walking, walking in glowering silence as Duncan attempted to engage her in conversation and reason with her. And on many levels she knew she was being unreasonable, but bottling up mourning in favor of unreasonable anger had its advantages. She couldn't think of any at the moment, but there had to be _some_ or she wouldn't be doing it. Unless she was a stupendous _idiot_.

Which was turning into the most likely scenario, especially as meal times and other necessary biological functions were rendered entirely overcomplicated due to being bound. Every time she thought she had calmed down, and it was fine for Duncan to untie her, some image would flash into her mind and she would try to brain him, and the bindings would go back on. And her faithful mutt was being far less than _helpful_.

It was perhaps a day from Ostagar before she got herself wound down enough to walk beside Duncan, unbound, white-knuckle gripping Rollo's collar in order to keep her fists to herself. This wasn't really like her, she told herself. She was not a violent person. Sure, there was a two handed broadsword strapped to her back, but that was necessity, not personality.

She felt dirty everywhere. Her long, straight black tresses were matted and grimy from travel, the bangs hanging in her eyes miserably. She hadn't had a bath in ages and probably reeked under all the scale armor, skin cracked and bruised all over, bleeding in some places. Her nose had started bleeding at one point when her hands were bound, and she was certain it had stained the linens under her armor even more before the flow could be staunched.

And then out to meet them, of all people, was the bloody King Caillan.

"Have we met before?" He asked, for all the world as if they had not danced at a formal function two years ago and she had not been at Anora's wedding, as one of her younger bridesmaids (a consolation prize for the teyrns who did not have their daughter wedded to the king).

"I am Aveline Cousland." She gave him a stiff head bow. He seemed startled; perhaps muck and grime had done more damage to her appearance than she thought at first.

"Bryce's youngest? It is surely a surprise to see he would allow one of his children to join the Wardens!" Caillan seemed enraptured by the idea, if understandably confused.

"My father is dead. As well as my mother, and Fergus's wife and child." There was no preamble, no _Sire, I bring grave news_. "Murdered by Arl Rendon Howe's men in the night. I escaped with the help of Duncan after he Conscripted me."

All she heard after that was that Howe would be hanged for his treason, and how sorry the King was, and Duncan could this be true, and Fergus was not in camp at the moment and would not return til after the battle. Avi excused herself then, biting down on the harsh words that threatened to spill out (_what could you know of my grief_). She wanted to gut Howe herself, not watch him dance in the wind.

Duncan caught up to her, informing her where the Grey Warden tent was, and she nodded and memorized the information, striding in that direction with Rollo, intent on avoiding the Highever encampment. Later, familiar faces would be a comfort. For now, all they did was make her feel as if she needed to hit Duncan _more_, especially after his final words included warnings not to vent her anger on bystanders.

The anger was going to kill her, and she needed to fix it. She needed to do _something_. Besides the quick scrub down of her body in a sectioned off area of the massive tent, the wringing and combing out of her hair, and the scrub down of her armor. Maker but that felt so much _better_, to be clean.

But there was still so much rage left. It pressed on her chest even more than the now-scoured scale mail that did not fit as properly as it should. Too wide in the shoulders and not proportioned correctly for her chest; she'd have to trade it off for something more her size later. Duncan had mentioned that Grey Wardens would be outfitted for a small fee. The few sovereigns in her pocket felt ridiculously inadequate. Not even a week's allowance.

Avi stepped back out of the tent, tying her hair back with a slim cord. Her bangs still cut into her eyes, but that had never bothered her before and it certainly wasn't significant _now_. She whistled to Rollo, stalking about the camp, looking for something to entertain herself. And block out the incessant _anger_.

She found it among the ash warriors, one calling to her. He was younger than the others and less severe, and wanted to compliment her on Rollo's impeccable breeding. His mabari, a bitch named Marron, apparently agreed, if anyone was to judge by how she sidled up to the large male.

As they got to talking, Avi found it was pleasant enough to drift into. The man had a well-formed face, and was likely a year or so younger than her, and his voice was a light baritone. He could have been more charming if he wasn't _reeking_ of khaddis, but she would take what she could get in the area of 'distracting company.' And then, she asked what made an ash warrior an ash warrior.

"We value our hounds with our lives, and they do the same in return. Long ago we were taught by Dwarven berserkers how to harness battle rage and use it in tandem with our hounds." He said easily, apparently enjoying her company as well. They had walked a circle around the encampment, hounds at their heels. His admission made her…pause.

"Berserkers? Battle rage?" She mulled this over. "Is there, perhaps…some way you could teach me…?"

"Um…" And that was where he balked. Avi hissed inwardly. Should have known. "No, I'm sorry. I'm not even supposed to really talk about it with non-initiates."

"Well, I'm a Grey Warden recruit. Is that close enough?" In another lifetime, she may have flirted with him, smiled at him sweetly, and _purred_, but she couldn't muster the right state of mind for it at the moment. All she could do was test his limits.

"No, it's not." He said decisively. She scowled. "I can tell you it's about using your anger instead of suppressing it, and not in a stupid way as to get you killed. Anything else and you'd have to be an Ash Warrior. And…" The young man looked at her sideways. "We really don't take women often. If at all."

"I am getting the impression that many elite corps do not often take women. Everywhere it is a surprise that the new Grey Warden recruit is female. One would think we were not in Ferelden and women were simply ornaments to trot out at every ball and festival." Avi bit back in disgust. The man shied away from her, put off by her snappishness. But she found she didn't care so much anymore; he couldn't help her, wouldn't help her, and she would take that little tidbit he had given her and repeat it like a litany, but it was rather useless otherwise. Now there would be no more distracting conversation from him; she was too focused on being cross.

The two drifted apart and she went off to the Grey Warden encampment area to sulk. Really, it could be nothing _but_ a sulk, as it had far too much glowering for a mere _pout_ and it involved kicking innocent stones in a huff. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was acting like a child, but who gave a damn anymore?

Rollo flopped at her side, whining in ernest. Well, at least he gave a damn, it seemed.

"You have been entirely unhelpful, you know. You haven't even bit Duncan." Avi said peevishly. She was responded to with an annoyed _whuff_, as if she hadn't known where his allegiances lay anyway. "Fine. Be that way."

_"…it's about using your anger instead of suppressing it, and not in a stupid way as to get you killed."_

She mulled it over. How often had her practice instructors told her that her anger threw her off balance? That giving into taunts was tantamount to handing your blade over to the enemy and offering to impale yourself upon it? Yet, dwarven berserkers, ash warriors…they all used anger. Something she had in abundance. And what had King Caillan told her?

"Vent your grief against the darkspawn."

Very well, then. Whenever the opportunity arose, it would be time to test out this advice.


	2. Chapter 2: Milady and the Swamp

"Not used to roughing it, milady?" Daveth called over his shoulder. Avi could _hear_ the grin in his voice as he teased her. With a disgusting _schluck _sound, she managed to remove her boot from the mud without losing it.

She was positively covered in mud and grime, chilled to the bone and struggling with the terrain in the Korcari Wilds. She was used to practice leathers and planned hikes. By no means was she out of shape or some flabby, sit-at-home noble. But she was constantly falling behind the others on this hike. Only by the grace of the Maker had she managed not to fall flat on her face.

"If we're going to survive, we have to work together." Alistair's demeanor was uncharacteristically serious, though she heard a softness in it that she expected. "If we need to go slower, then we need to go slower."

"I am fine." Avi still had her pride. Her damnable pride, but pride all the same. She bit down on the desire to qualify the 'fine' with excuses. _I've never been on this kind of terrain before, it was never allowed, I'm trying to compensate, this is heavier armor than I'm used to_. No excuses. And so they trudged on, though the pace was, irritatingly, a little slower.

It was just about the point where Avi was beginning to believe they would never see anything but endless swamp when Alistair hissed, "Darkspawn." His sword and shield were in his hands, Daveth and Jory drawing their respective weapons. She reached back and felt the comforting grip of the two-hander, innocuous in its appearance, which she had secured from the chest in her father's room. It made a loud scraping sound as she dragged it past her family's heirloom weapons on her back.

"Shall we keep score?" Daveth murmured to her as he slid past, heading to the back with his bow. She simply glared at him and he gave her a wink. She had no illusions as to his feelings; he was very obvious. He thought her pretty but prickly, and had settled into a routine of seeing how he could get her goat. Even as she realized she was being manipulated, she was too distracted to present the proper front still.

Mama and Papa would have disapproved completely.

Avi felt her breath catch as the first darkspawn came over the crest of the hill. Their jumbled armor, their erratic movement, their twisted faces…it caused something primal in her to quail. Jory and Alistair moved forward to engage, Daveth let his arrows fly. And Avi…she froze. It felt like the sweat and swamp air on her skin had coated her in ice and locked her in place.

She remained this way, mind stuck in _nothing_ until a gunlock thudded into her, arrow through its eye socket. The sword it was carrying barely avoided her ribs, and she took a step back.

"Snap out of it, _milady_!" Daveth's voice was taunting, teasing, even as it showed real concern. Gritting her teeth, swinging her sword in an arc, she cursed her inadequacy as she hewed into another gunlock.

_"…using your anger…"_

She felt the anger in her chest, behind her eyes, and she let it shake the last bit of ice from her veins. She would destroy these beasts like she did the men who attacked her in her home. She felt blood splash over her, in her face, and it simply drove her further. Vision tinted red, she slid into the fray and lost herself in the violence, hacking and slashing, ignoring the cuts and pummels that managed to slip between the scales of her armor.

And then, all were dead, and she stood panting and tired among the corpses. Her kill count was no different than the others, perhaps increased by one, but she was definitely worse for wear. She couldn't tell what was her blood and what was not. Daveth came up behind her and clapped her on the shoulder. "That wasn't so bad, then?"

She narrowly avoided hurling on his boots.

"That's normal." Alistair's voice floated above the gagging and retching as Daveth quickly backpedaled from her. Jory's face looked even more skeptical than he had when she had first introduced herself to him. She was doing nothing to improve her standing among her new comrades. She felt like a charity case.

"I can get your blood if it'll spare us another pitcher of rainbow sludge." Daveth offered, warily and cheekily. She couldn't even wipe her mouth, as coated in mud and blood as her gauntlets were. She instead tried to spit the taste out of her mouth, completely ignoring Jory's sputtered defense of her. Still, she pulled out her own vial and scooped up the blood into it. It was a purple black that unsettled her, not that she would say anything.

She staggered slightly, and Jory's arms automatically shot out to steady her as she tried to stand from her stooped position. Alistair cursed, striding over, checking over the top of her head (easy enough for him; she barely came up to his collar bone). She let out a choked cry as gauntleted fingers connected with a sore spot.

"Your skull is cracked." He confirmed, Daveth handing him an injury kit. "You didn't feel that while you were fighting? These things have to be taken care of immediately, Avi."

"I barely felt anything." She muttered, letting out another cry as the strange feeling of a health poultice, hot and cold at the same time, filtered onto the wound, followed by a wrapped bandage. She must have look a pitiful sight, hair sticking out of a makeshift bandage of linen and glowing red sludge.

_"…and not in a stupid way as to get you killed."_

She grimaced, nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with feeling like an idiot. So that was what the ash warrior had meant. She hadn't felt the wounds, she'd barely felt anything. Thinking back on it, she'd barely _seen_ anything. It had all been a haze of moving bodies and bare recognition of _things to kill_ and _things not to kill_. She shivered, nothing to do with the chill.

"There, you're good as new! Well, as good as slightly used, but we won't mention that part if we have to trade you in for a newer model, shall we?" The attempt at humor was paper-thin, and she felt the disguised apprehension in his voice. She struggled to keep pace, froze in combat, and gained dangerous injuries with barely any benefit. What had Duncan been thinking?

She grit her teeth. She had no answer for that question. She barely knew, herself, anymore.

"We need to keep going, and get those treaties." Daveth shifted from foot to foot, eager to get going. She winced inwardly, thanking Jory for his support before slipping out of his grasp and standing up. As much as she hated to admit it, Daveth was twice the Warden and fighter she would ever be. His conscription made sense. Alistair made sense as well; he was a superb fighter, and made recruits feel at ease. Jory…she felt as if Jory and her were in the same boat; ridiculously out of their depth.

She'd change that. She would keep working. On her anger, on its use, on her combat. She wouldn't let her parents down.

_Couslands always do their duty._


	3. Chapter 3: A Little Blood, A Little Bond

_Thank you everyone who is reading and reviewing so far. I have had a little trouble with these next chapters; the fact of the matter is that Aveline isn't acting like herself, and it makes conversations awkward and difficult to write (as most things happen to be when someone is denying their nature). I'm trying to write semi-new dialogue as well, not simply rely on the in-game dialogue, and I fear I'm not as talented as the writers from Bioware. Still, I'm doing my best. I'm also playing around with time flow a little bit, putting extra pauses where there weren't before. But, please, enjoy!_

* * *

"You're a curious woman, _milady_." Daveth began, as they sat around the fire, waiting for Alistair to return with Duncan, who was concluding his business in another part of the war camp. They still had yet to pass on the dark vials of darkspawn blood and the treaties. She twitched a little, irritated, by the ever-present, tongue-in-cheek nickname he used. It was certainly past a simple honorific, with the way he said it.

"Am I, now?" Avi asked, running the whetstone along the edge of her blade. It was a chasind blade, pulled from the hollow of a downed tree in amongst a camp overrun with stealthed genlocks. For a barbarian's weapon, it was surprisingly well-made and lightly enchanted, and she did admire the designs on it. "How have I piqued your curiosity, then, Daveth?"

"Well, _milady_, I can't say I expected you to be the one to take command when we came upon those witches. Since you froze against the darkspawn, I was beginning to wonder if you weren't made of the same jelly as our Ser Jory." His grin was meant to lessen the sting of the words, even as they irritated. Ser Jory started to sputter something, interrupted by the sharp strike of her whetstone, loud and obviously ill-placed.

"Perhaps I felt someone needed to do _something_. It is not as if the lot of you did much more than babble in fear of becoming toads or what have you." Avi snipped back. "Excluding Ser Jory, who at least helpfully reminded you to keep your tongue in check, lest it incense them further."

Ser Jory seemed to beam at the praise, and Avi regretted giving it almost immediately, but they had all been harassing the knight a little too much for her tastes. She was no bully.

"I suppose I did lose a little of my head around that woman, Morrigan. Magic gives me the fidgets, 'specially if there's no handy templar around to keep it in line." Daveth laughed. "Though the way you were looking at her, you would think we'd just found your long-lost lover." His tone was sly, but he seemed obviously interested. Avi hated herself, but she knew she blushed.

"Alistair is templar-trained." She said as a response. She would not rise to the bait. In truth, she had found Morrigan to be hauntingly beautiful, and had finally fallen back on her noble training, politeness, logic and careful consideration, as a defense mechanism. There was something about Morrigan that made her forget her anger, and be simply…enraptured. It frightened her enough to forget her anger, for a time.

"Fat lot of good that does us, when he's just as fidgety!" Daveth was in remarkably high cheer, laughing and joking. Avi felt like, perhaps, she could have really liked him, if she'd known him a few weeks sooner. Though, a few weeks sooner and he'd have been just as likely to cut her purse as talk her up. There was no accounting for timing.

"If you are all ready, then?" Duncan's smooth voice came from behind them, and Avi cursed as her whetstone skittered awkwardly over her blade, slipping and slicing open her palm as she was startled. She could at least be comforted by the fact that Jory and Daveth had jumped as well. Less comforting was the face of Alistair's, grim and serious. That was not the junior warden she had come to know; he treated many grave matters as time for a light joke. This was apparently not one.

Or maybe he had heard Daveth and taken offense. One could never tell.

They all handed over their darkspawn blood and the treaties, following Alistair to the temple. She listened to Jory's complaints, Daveth's proclamation of his resolve against the darkspawn, all of it in silence. She felt an outsider; seeing Duncan again had flared up all the resentment she'd harbored previously, and she felt as if these others simply operated around her, without her. They would go about their business exactly as they would have if she'd been someone else, or no one else. She didn't belong.

Later, when she woke up after watching them die, and the unbearable fire of the taint in her veins, and that horrible, terrible vision of the corrupted old god, she had to believe the Maker had a horrible sense of humor.

* * *

Alistair wanted to say something to the new warden, something encouraging and bolstering. Avi had been even quieter since the Joining and since being informed that the pair of them wouldn't be in the main battle. He'd managed to get a little smile from her, the first ever, with his joke about dancing the Remigold down the darkspawn front lines, but she had sunken into brooding silence again once they were left alone. She'd even struggled into her new chainmail in silence, though he felt relieved she hadn't asked for his help.

So, it surprised him when she approached him, mere minutes from before they were set to head to the tower, and asked, "You are…a sword and shield warrior, primarily, yes?" Her mabari (named Rollo, she had said) flanked her. It gave him a precursory sniff, then seemed to decide he wasn't worth too much investigation.

Looking down at the shield and sword he was currently carrying, strapped to his arm and in his fist, then back up at her, he raised an eyebrow. "No, I just enjoy dressing up from time to time, waving these around and playing soldier." He said it as a joke, but her frown made him think he'd made a mistake.

"I…yes. I suppose it was a stupid question." She bit her lip, and he sighed inwardly. That was definitely not the effect he'd been going for. "In either case, I thought…well, we are comrades now, right? Er, brother and sister wardens?" The way she said it, the way this conversation was going, was incredibly awkward. It didn't seem to suit her.

"That is true, yes. Why?" Alistair asked, unsure where she was going with this. She pulled a sword and shield from her back, one he had seen her wearing throughout the trip to the wilds but never use. The shield had double laurels upon it, and was battered and pitted. The sword was well-maintained in comparison, and seemed almost new.

"If you would like, you may use these if…if you will care for them. I profess I have little talent for that manner of fighting." She presented them to him, almost reverently. He tried to hide his confusion.

"I, well, er, thank you." He took them from her, wondering what in Thedas would make her think her warped shield could possibly be better than the perfectly serviceable one he held now. But in taking it up he felt the enchantments on it, and on the sword as well. They would serve him well for a long time, but…where would she get something like this? Besides her being a noble, something Jory had seemed enraptured by, he hadn't ever really talked to her about her past.

"Just…take care of them. They…" Avi seemed about to say more, but bit her lip again. If things weren't so serious, and if the smaller woman wasn't somewhat frightening in her intensity, Alistair would almost call it a cute expression. "Well, yes. Just, er…use them well." She had curled her fist around Rollo's collar, and he was leaning heavily against her. Alistair wondered how she maintained her footing with such a huge creature pushing against her, but he hadn't seen her lose her balance yet, he recalled.

"Of course." He propped his old weapons up against a handy rack, expertly securing the shield to his arm before taking up the blade. "I'll give it the best of blood baths. I'll even take the time to clean it up after." He gave her a cock-eyed grin, hoping she would return it. She _tried_ to, and perhaps the corners of her mouth did go up slightly, but Maker's breath, he hoped this woman discovered a sense of humor before too long. He wanted to be able to get along with her, especially as they were of similar age and both relatively new to the wardens.

"Let's get going, then." She said, finally, gesturing towards the entrance. Alistair nodded even as Rollo barked enthusiastically. He liked that the dog was coming with them; he'd always wanted a mabari, or even just a simple mongrel, as a child. This one was big enough to qualify as a dwarf, and just as packed with muscle.

"Right behind you." He gave her a wink. He would try one more attempt at humor, before he gave up. "Or, well, in front, as the case may be. Since I have the shield and all."

She smiled then, a real (small) one, and he breathed a sigh of relief. So, maybe they wouldn't get along _famously_, or be the best of friends, or develop a secret handshake, but at least she wasn't severe all the time. Now, if they could get through a fight without her losing all of her blood in the process, things might go a little smoother. Andraste's flaming sword, but the woman needed to guard her innards a little better when she went on a rampage.

* * *

Avi was struggling not to lose her lunch as they progressed through the tower, the mage with them not doing as well in that regard. How could the darkspawn have been here so long? And they had to have been inside the tower for a good amount of time, to have been able to erect such masses of body on the debris, strip them of flesh and any recognizable features. It was disturbing. The massive tunnel they found didn't help, either. It was all so…so…

It didn't matter. They were nearing the top now, bloodied and battered as they were. She had burns on her face from the mage's careless fireballs; without the attentions of a healer she would likely be permanently scarred. Rollo had a limp in his back leg, and even Alistair's blocks were getting clumsier. She could see it, even as she felt the awkwardness in her own swings. Her anger was failing her as well; pretending every darkspawn was Howe was exhausting and impractical. And, Maker's mercy, she had cracked her skull again. Without an injury kit, the wound just sat there, sticky and un-bandaged and likely getting filled with who knew what manner of debris.

"Almost there." Alistair said. His jokes from the first floors had dwindled to none as they climbed. She would have preferred the distraction of them, to be honest, but he was probably as tired as her, and out of new and interesting material to taunt the darkspawn with. She couldn't complain; she had none to offer. So they climbed the last flight of stairs, cursing for the thousandth time that the Chantry hadn't simply allowed a mage to shoot a fireball into the air.

And there they found the ogre.

It was horrible, and twisted, and it was _eating_ a guard, blood spewing and drooling out of the bloody chunks of meat. Avi swallowed compulsively to keep the bile from leaving her stomach. The mage dry-heaved.

And then it was coming for them, and there was no time to be ill anymore. It was all she could do to simply stay on her feet as it charged and roared, backhanding them in a careless arc. She refused to be knocked down. She kept her footing, she hacked away at the beast. It was a clumsy thing, and she would take advantage of that.

She could keep from being bowled over, but not knocked back. It charged her, and she skidded, slipping on blood and gore, clambering backwards to maintain her upright stance. She hadn't fallen, but she was in no position to strike back. This is when the beast took its chance, scooping her up in its immense hand, rearing a fist back to strike clumsily at her all while it squeezed her. Chainmail suddenly felt too flimsy.

And then she fell, clattering and clinking to the ground, Rollo attached to the arm that was moving to strike her, Alistair on the other side with his shield, _her shield_, slamming repeatedly into the beast's ribcage. And then he was leaping, impossibly, up to stab the thing several times, a wide slashing arc across the throat bringing it down finally.

The fight had taken possibly thirty seconds, maybe a little more. Avi ached as if she had been fighting for days. Breathing was difficult. Her head hurt incredibly, and she was certain she had probably broken or badly twisted an ankle in the fall.

"Stay with her." Alistair told the trembling, useless mage. Rollo took it upon himself to sit beside her, instead, growling at the man. "Right. I'll light the beacon."

She felt the fire of the torch pass over her, briefly, and the sudden heat as it flared up the special shaft to create the signal. And then Alistair sat beside her, heavily, groaning. "You know, I think I broke my arm slamming against that blasted thing. That shield is impressive; probably saved both our hides. Thanks for—_glurk_." He fell heavily next to her, arrows sticking out of his chest like little pennants.

Avi heard Rollo cry out before crashing down, similarly decorated. The mage was simply beheaded before he could get halfway through a spell, and then the heavy boot of a hurlock was on her chest, pressing down, cutting off her air. She summoned up enough strength to smack a hand against its ankle, before the stars in her vision swam into a pain-filled blackness.


	4. Chapter 4: She Looks Great in Red

_I had __**no idea**__ that there would be a character in DA2 named 'Aveline' when I named my Warden. My Warden looks nothing like her, and I have no idea if their personalities match up, but I am surprised nonetheless! So, um, pure coincidence, I swear.

* * *

_

The first thought Avi had upon waking was that she was very, very _hungry_. The second thought was that she should be dead, and being dead felt an awful lot like starvation. Truthfully, she hadn't been the best daughter and sibling in the world, but certainly she had not done whatever it was that made you exist in perpetual hunger for eternity.

But where she was laid down was soft, and warm, and smelled clean, and she very much did not wish to open her eyes and see where she was. It was unfamiliar enough to cause her worry, but her nose was just cold enough to tell her that giving up the body heat under the blanket would be a poor choice. And—Maker, she was in her smallclothes.

There was nothing that would get a woman out of a strange bed faster than realizing she was almost naked.

"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased." That smooth, dark voice greeted her, sliding over her and announcing _Morrigan_. Avi suddenly felt even more embarrassed to be in her smallclothes in front of the woman, and apparently swathed in bandages. And there was some sticky gunk upon her face, likely where the burns had been before. She felt fine, healthy, _whole_, and not unlike having had slept for a full night, despite the ever-gnawing hunger. "Tell me, how does your memory fare? Do you remember mother's rescue?"

"I…no, the last I recall was…" Avi choked, remembering Alistair crashing to the ground next to her, riddled with arrows. "Is…Alistair? Rollo? The mage? Were they saved as well?"

"If one of those is a fellow Grey Warden with an incredible capacity to weep and the other a mangy hound, then they were recovered as well, yes. The mage you refer to, I suspect, was the one mother found headless, and thus beyond even her arts." Morrigan said all of this in an off-hand way. No comfort, no remorse. Conversation. "The rest of the army was massacred, as the man who was to respond to your signal quit the field."

Loghain…quit the field? Teyrn Loghain, general of legend, hero of renown…quit the field? Abandoned his son-in-law, the king, and allowed the armies of arls, banns and even her own to perish? As well as the Grey Wardens…

"Your friend is outside by the fire. I suppose it would be unkind to say he is being childish, with all his blubbering." Morrigan scoffed. "I shall help you back into your armor, if you like, and give you a rag for your face. The poultices should have done the work mother's healing did not. She wished to see you when you awoke."

Avi pulled herself from the bed, amazed at the amount of glop that had been slathered upon herself and then wrapped in linen strips. Had she really been so broken? She began removing them in fistfuls, revealing nothing but cream skin beneath. No scars, no lesions, no disfigurement to her face. It was if someone was playing a joke on her, slapping her with glowing red poultice slime for kicks and telling her she'd nearly died. Oh, how funny!

After wiping herself clean with the towel Morrigan provided, she slipped on the softer clothes to protect her from chafing, then allowed the witch to help her re-buckle into the chain mail. She noted that this armor had not been as well cared for as her skin and organs; it was missing vital chunks in certain areas, splotched with drying blood, and fit her poorly. She needed to replace it. Luckily, the few sovereigns she had were still tucked into a tattered section of the inner padding, though all of the smaller coppers and silvers had trickled out along the way, with a few in the bottom of her tattered, blood-stained pack. Two sovereigns could feed a man, a woman, and a dog, if they managed to be somewhat conservative, for a month, perhaps, if she did not replace her armor.

The rumbling in her gut was anything but conservative, however. How long had she been out, to be _this hungry_?

Distracted as she was by the thought, Avi did not remember to thank Morrigan until she was outside, facing Alistair and Morrigan's mother, Rollo covered in mud and looking as pleased as punch despite the circumstances. Apparently, he had caught a frog and it had been delicious. This more than made up for almost-death.

"You…you're alive! I thought you were dead for sure." Alistair's miserable face did nothing to make her feel any better. She wished, instead, he had done something well-meaning and inappropriate, mock-horror over her supposedly ruined face, only to tell her he was only kidding so she could punch him in the shoulder and she could stop remembering that everyone kept _dying_ around her. She needed a desperate laugh. "Duncan's dead. The Grey Wardens, even the king…they're all dead."

She swallowed, in a haze as Alistair and Morrigan's mother, _Flemeth_, began to discuss the future, speak of what needed to be done and who needed to do it. She dimly remembered the treaties, but…Duncan had had them. How could they even use the treaties, when he held them?

Except…she thought. Had she ever actually given them to him? She had shown him them, and then they'd moved on to the Joining. Did she…? As they talked of archdemons, Loghain, Eamon, the shadows of men's hearts and uncertainty, she dug awkwardly through her pack, past miscellaneous poultices, medicines, and glowing blue vials, for…ah! She almost pulled them out violently, before stopping to remember that they were of no use tattered, ripped or otherwise mangled. Rather, she slid them out carefully, rolled as they were, and nearly unbalanced herself gracelessly trying not to dump her open pack and hand them off to Alistair at the same time. His face lit up, the first sign of anything other than depression.

"Of course, the Grey Warden treaties!" He looked almost as if he might hug her, and she took an involuntary step back as he reached for them. Flipping through them, he listed their allies off by name while Flemeth chuckled. The woman frightened Avi, deep in her marrow, in a way that made her _determined_ not to show an ounce of it. "Can we do this? Gather an army, face the archdemon, end the Blight?"

"I…" Her voice cracked. There were _two of them_. How could they possibly…? "That…is what Grey Wardens do…and we are the only ones left. We have no choice." _Couslands always do their duty_.

"I would give you one last thing, to aid you." Flemeth's smile was haunting, making Avi tense immediately. But the 'thing' turned out to be…Morrigan, who, despite her protests, seemed to wish very much to come along.

"And you, Wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed." Avi's head hurt from hunger, she was rapidly becoming somewhat terrified, and the anger was seeping back into her, for the unfairness, the ridiculousness, the insanity of the situation. She felt like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin and hide somewhere until everything was over. How much could a human mind _deal with_ before shattering, honestly?

"I…understand. I swear to you, she will not come to harm with us." She said it before she thought about it, before the realization that they were going to fight an archdemon, a _Blight_, could cut in and remind her that such promises were hardly reasonable to keep. And as Alistair and Morrigan began bickering and they worked their way through the cold, stinking Wilds towards Lothering, she couldn't help but feel as if she'd been fooled somehow.

* * *

"Uck." Avi spat. She could hear in the back of her mind her mother making a horrified face at her child's manners, but somehow this didn't bother her as much as the taste of bandit blood that had splashed into her mouth. The sight of the templar lying dead beside them had been too much; she hadn't wanted to give them mercy, and she was now a sovereign and a half richer for her efforts.

And all of them, save Morrigan, was splattered with blood, making it likely that Lothering would be a fair sight less than hospitable towards them. Unless, perhaps, they believed that a man, two women and a dog could kill, what had it been? Five, six bandits? More?

She didn't remember. It had occurred in a red haze of rage. People were starving, dying, running in fear, and these men were squeezing silver from them, all with a jaunty, cavalier attitude and a flirty disregard for decency. They had deserved it.

Trying to wipe the blood from her face, she only succeeded in smearing it. Wonderful.

"Here." Alistair handed her a surprisingly clean white kerchief, pulled out from the inside of his pack. She stared at it dumbly for a moment before gratefully ruining it with the bodily fluids on her face. "While you look splendid in red, perhaps it's best if we not terrify the refugees _completely_." His face was remarkably clean, but then again he wielded a shield, her family's shield, and was kept much cleaner thanks to it.

"Thank you." She nodded, hesitating to hand it back. He laughed.

"You can keep it, for the next time. I think you'll get more use from it than me, anyway." He was grinning, an odd change from the walk through the Wilds, where his only words to her had involved apologies as he hustled her along when she tried to persuade them to look for her brother. The anger from that _particular_ instance had cooled in the vented, severed hides of the bandits behind them, as well as the logical part of her that knew it would have been suicide to try.

"As touching as this scene is, tis a surprise you managed to not fall on your blade in grief by now." Morrigan's snark cut through the pair of them, causing Alistair to wince and Avi to sigh. So much for the momentary peace.

"Is my being upset so hard to understand? What would you—" Alistair started. Avi spoke up before it could go any further.

"This won't help. We are three people," Rollo butted against her thigh, "and one mabari against a _Blight_. Stop picking at each other." She snapped, peevishly. Alistair's mouth snapped shut and Morrigan scowled, but neither continued. "We need to get provisions and a map and repair armor. Tents, as well, and Maker knows what else. Let's just…get moving."

"Yes, ser!" Alistair replied brightly. He seemed to do better when given direction, which rankled a little. Shouldn't _he_ be in charge?

Their approach was almost halted by a templar, trying to stop them to explain the lack of accommodations. She stormed past him without comment, having absolutely zero intention of wasting time talking with him or staying the night. The place was miserable, in obvious, sunken-eyed ways, where every person lamented a loss or a tragedy. This was _not_ where one took time to shake the dust from their boots.

And it was not one where someone could get _peace_ to do their errands, as no sooner did she find the only merchant in the village was she pulled into a ridiculous struggle over prices and fairness and charity. It was idiotic; the merchant was trying to pay her to run off an older priest like a bandit, charging ridiculous prices for goods that would not be sold because no one could afford them. There was good business sense, and then there was stupidity.

She was half a head shorter than the man, and obviously of the 'fairer' sex. But she had the advantage of being dotted by flaking blood and carrying an exorbitantly large sword, as well as being flanked by two others and a mabari who was very clearly requesting permission to sink teeth into fleshy, tender parts. So when she _commanded_ that the merchant lower his prices, it was no small wonder to her that he obeyed with a squeak and a scramble. Morrigan tried her best to be offended that the group was interfering in meaningless squabbles, but the small, satisfied grin at the man's fear did not seem disingenuous.

She hesitated by the Chantry board. Answering some calls for help would yield payment, and money was a problem. But so was _time_, and running about killing…bandits, bears, and rummaging for corpses would take up an entire afternoon, an afternoon they needed to gather their supplies and _leave_.

As it would turn out, a great many things were determined to take up their time that day, intentions be damned.


	5. Chapter 5: Where's My Tent?

Avi jolted awake, sweating, shivering, terrified to her very core. It took quite a while before she realized there was a strong, gauntleted grip around her shoulders and foreign eyes gazing in curiosity and concern. Her vision slowly cleared and the faces of her companions, all so new as to be still unfamiliar, and she nearly choked on a sudden rush of bile.

_Maker, it had been so __**real**_.

Someone, Alistair, possibly, held a water skin to her lips and she gratefully choked down a gulp. Not because she was thirsty, really, but because it helped solidify what was real and present rather than distant and terrifying. She focused on her breathing, on making herself calm, on the fact that if an enormous, corrupted Old God was, in fact, roaring in her face, her companions would not be quite so concerned with her screaming and would likely be at least attempting to swat it on the nose.

Rollo ducked under her arm consolingly, trying to smother her with his massive bulk, exuding concern and comfort in such an overwhelming way as to make her feel instantly much more alive. Alistair was saying something to the others, and they were departing, but she was much too busy burying her face into Rollo's fur to care. He was so _warm_, why hadn't she been sleeping with him before? It was too damn cold—

"Hey, Avi?" Alistair's hand on her shoulder interrupted her thoughts again, and she removed her face from Rollo's side in order to focus on him. He had a half-smile, worried expression plainly visible even as he attempted to hide it. "Bad dreams?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The water had gone down roughly, and she'd probably be a little hoarse for a while.

"That's…well, that's going to be something you need to get used to, unfortunately. As a handy consolation prize for surviving the lovely taste of essence of darkspawn, you will now get to hear the motivational speeches of one archdemon in your dreams, and occasional visions of lesser darkspawn going about their day-to-day lives. Handy, no?" She could tell that once he got the ball rolling, he really knew how to latch onto a joke.

"So…" Avi coughed. "That's how Duncan knew it was a Blight?"

"Yes, that would be it." Alistair's grin got knocked down a peg. "Sorry I wasn't able to tell you earlier. You seemed to sleep fine the night before…you know, the tower, and then we didn't exactly have time…"

"It's all right." Avi waved him off, leaning harder on Rollo. "Anything else I should know about?"

He hesitated, and that was how she knew what came next was a lie. "No, no, I think that about covers it. You should see if you can get back to sleep; you've got watch in about an hour." He stood to go, and her hand shot out, curling around his gauntleted wrist.

"Alistair…" she began, biting her lip. He raised an eyebrow. "…where is my tent?"

Pausing, stunned, he suddenly laughed. "Oh, that! Funniest thing; well, funny _now_, not funny _then_, but you see, when you were thrashing around from the nightmare you managed to knock it in on top of yourself, and then we had a hell of a time getting it off you while you tangled yourself up in it. So Rollo gets a hold of it with his teeth and I'm pulling the other direction when," he finished by making a dramatic tearing gesture with his hands. "The, uh, remains are over there, though I doubt they're any good for sleeping with."

Avi followed the direction he was pointing, and found a jumbled mess of ripped canvas and broken poles. She groaned in frustration, even as Rollo's stumpy tail wagged proudly to inform her of how well he had fought to free her. She rubbed him absently behind the ears; better than letting her strangle herself with the cords, anyway.

"Well, I suppose I'm up." She grumbled, hauling herself to her feet. "Might as well keep you company until my watch." Slipping the still-damaged chainmail over her head that she had worn previously, she picked her way over to the fire with her broadsword in hand. Alistair made no comment, moving over so she could settle onto a fallen log next to him.

She inspected her sword, wincing at the enormous notch in it. Furious at the conditions Sten had been held captive in, she had struck the cage open rather than go speak to the Revered Mother or seek some other route. Now there was heavy damage to her weapon from the sloppy cleave, and it was quite likely to break along there soon enough. Not that they could afford to replace it; they still needed to get Sten some proper, Qunari-sized armor.

The silence between the pair of Wardens managed to stretch on for almost five minutes before Alistair broke. "So, if you don't mind me asking…how did you become a Grey Warden?" He was poking the fire with a stick, absently, more for something to do than that it needed any poking. "I know you said when we first met that you weren't exactly thrilled with the situation, or with Duncan himself, but…" He paused. "You can also decide you don't want to talk about it, and that I'm being too nosy for my own good, if you prefer, and we can switch the topic to something much more innocent, like types of cheese or favorite types of sword polish or whatever."

Avi regarded him cautiously. How much to say? "Do you recognize the heraldry on the shield I loaned you?"

"Oh, _now_ you tell me it's a loan! I suppose I won't get my deposit back now, seeing what I've done to it." He was joking, and she could tell, but it was hard for her to make the reflexive twitch of her face look like a grin instead of a grimace. He frowned. "Er, I…recall it, vaguely, but I'm not in much in the habit of keeping track of all of them. There's so many banns and arls and such that I just don't know. I know Ser Jory said you were some kind of noblewoman; I'm sorry, I didn't catch which."

She laughed, a harsh, barking sound that really held no amusement whatsoever. "Some kind, yes. It…probably doesn't matter." He didn't press her, and she didn't continue along that vein. "My family is all but dead, and unless my brother is alive that means the end of the line. Grey Wardens cannot hold titles, or so I'm told." She laid her broadsword across her lap, leaning on it lightly, dark hair and bangs falling into her eyes. "My family was murdered in the dead of night, by the soldiers of a man my father called 'friend.' As he lay dying, Duncan offered to take my mother and me to safety." Avi hesitated there; Alistair _worshipped_ Duncan, or just about. Would it really help to tell him, while he was recovering from the man's death, that he had done such a horrible thing to her as to blackmail her dying father?

The angry part of her wanted her to, to trash the dead man to his puppy-like devotee, another sort of revenge than the black eyes Avi had managed to dish out on the way to Ostagar. But Alistair, himself, had done nothing to make her hate _him_. She swallowed her ire.

"My mother chose to stay behind," Funny, how matter-of-fact that became quickly. "Rollo, Duncan and I escaped through a servants' tunnel. Rollo, that sword, and the shield, as well as the clothes on my back, are all I have left. I'm certain the place has been ransacked by now, if they didn't simply finish burning it to the ground." The snarl was back in her voice, and she realized how quickly she had become biting in her story-telling. "And, I suppose, you know the rest from there."

"I…I'm sorry." Alistair replied, somewhat lamely. She snorted, rudely, reflexively, and then regretted it. "I know it's not much," the other Warden responded, defensively, "and I know I've been, well, somewhat whiney about Duncan's death, but…"

"No, Alistair. That was…that was uncalled for of me." She interrupted, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "It's very nice of you to say so, I just…I'm having a little trouble putting everything in perspective. Can we talk about something else?" Her sideways glance at him was almost pleading. He nodded.

"Of course. So, what shall it be? Cheeses, perhaps? Or do you know any juicy gossip, maybe?" If anything, one could see Alistair could easily shift from uncomfortable conversation to easy-going banter. It was a nearly disarming quality of his; her hackles would go down almost instantly simply because she was _surprised_ at his stride. As she sat there, attempting to realign her thoughts, he continued on, leaning towards her, whispering conspiratorially, "I heard that there was a pair of traitorous, scheming Grey Wardens who have the _gall_ to believe they can end the Blight roaming around Fereldan. They're trying to build an army, or so they say."

Avi blinked at him, then smiled suddenly, shaking her head. "If only they knew that this army consisted of one handsome mabari, a delightfully prickly hedge witch, a mass-murdering foreigner, and a dagger-wielding lay-sister who talks to the Maker." She groaned then, burying her head in her hands. "Who have now all seen me flailing around in my sleep, likely yelling who knows what obscenities in several languages, and are certainly sure that they should ditch us, or me, at the first opportunity." She was getting a headache. A severe headache.

"Well, as luck would have it, I think our companions so far have little choice. Leliana helped attack Loghain's men, and apparently the _Maker_ is telling her to follow you." Her head snapped up and she looked at him pointedly. "Yes, _you_, apparently. Not me. Which I am fine with, really, completely and utterly." He ran a hand through his hair before continuing, ticking reasons off on his fingers. "Sten's pretty much a wanted man, and I think he has a few other reasons to stick around besides telling you he would. Morrigan's here under mum's orders, and Rollo's imprinted. Me, you're just stuck with, unless you want to see a grown man cry and latch onto your ankles, begging and weeping for you not to go and leave me all alone." His grin had gotten rather wanton as he'd gone through, almost as if he was begging her to _please cheer up for the sake of the Maker, Andraste and all that is holy._

She managed a smile; that would have to be good enough.

"Thank you, by the way." Avi said, finally. Alistair looked at her curiously. "I know I haven't been easy to get along with since I got here, and I've been having so much trouble adjusting to hiking, and freezing in battle, and today when I threw up after we…we had to kill those refugees and…"

"Hey, don't be like that. It's not been easy for anyone, and I can say without a doubt that even with templar training and a half a year as a Grey Warden, the trek down to Ostagar took it out of me. I'd just had more practice avoiding the worst of the mud in the Wilds before you got there, is all." His grin hadn't disappeared. "Besides, who's putting up with who? I've done nothing but _mope_ out here, right? We're all just a sorry bunch of doom and gloom curmudgeonly, insane murderers who hear Old Gods in our sleep. Have to stick together, and all that." He yawned, then, what looked to be painfully wide. She caught it and repeated.

"Heh, well. I suppose you're up for watch, and I'm going to go stumble into my tent and pass out, say hello to our friendly neighborhood archdemon. Enjoy watch; for all our sakes I hope it gets you bored out of your mind." He stood and stretched, walking past her to her tent. She mumbled a 'good night,' fondling Rollo's ears and staring into the fire. Then, with a heavy sigh, she pulled out the map and began looking it over determinedly.


	6. Chapter 6: Friendly Fire

"Why are we going to the Tower first?" Alistair asked, anxiously, as they hiked along the road. Avi brushed her bangs from her eyes for the fifth time in the last minute, trying not to sigh. The not-quite-templar had put the reins of the expedition squarely in her hands and yet could not help but wish it would go one way or another. It was frustrating.

"Because," _I don't want to see other nobles quite yet_ "the mages are our closest obligatory allies who do not move around, as the Dalish do. The Frostbacks are quite a ways from here, and we have no guarantee that Arl Eamon will help us, especially if he's ill." Avi rolled her shoulders, attempting to get the kinks from them. She was always stiff all over. "The Tower is not too much farther away than Redcliffe, in any case."

"I suppose that makes sense." Alistair sighed. She had a feeling that he would have preferred to go to Redcliffe first, especially after hearing about Eamon's condition. Unfortunately, he would simply have to deal with the circumstances if he was going to have no hand in the planning.

"Besides, even if they are little more than chantry pets, mages are far more powerful allies than mere soldiers." Morrigan cut in. "It may be wise, while we are there, to find a healer to accompany us. With all their conditioning to follow orders and do as they're told, it should be a simple enough task to find one submissive enough to our will."

Avi couldn't help agreeing inwardly with the reasoning, if she couldn't condone the maliciousness. Morrigan had made it clear she held only disdain for these 'captive fools.' Avi's education in the areas of magic, though satisfactory, had been far more glossed than the rest of it. Knowing the basics of what the chantry oversaw was important, of course, but unless she planned to _join_ the service, that was all it was deemed she needed. It irked her more than a little that she was going in virtually blind.

"Perhaps while we are there we can obtain a proper leash for this one." Sten's musings were abrupt and often out of nowhere, and if they had not had such a smooth, low quality to them, Avi was certain she would have leapt out of her skin every time. The man was too bloody _quiet_.

"A leash?" Morrigan scoffed. "If you attempt to put such a contraption upon me, fool, I will kill you where you stand."

"Sten, Fereldens do not leash their mages." Avi groaned. Her headaches started earlier each day. "And that is one of the main reasons the qunari ultimately were driven back." All relationships in the camp were still quite strained; everyone barely knew each other, excepting Rollo and Avi. She wanted to keep the tension to a minimum, which seemed nigh impossible with how much they picked, poked and prodded each other on a continual basis.

"And just think: the Tower should have guest rooms. We can wash the blood and dust from our hair properly for once." Leliana chirped, giving Avi a smile and a wink. Avi would have _killed_ for her bedroom with her nice warm covers, soft in all the right ways, and her bath, and her lotions and clean clothes and the freedom to sleep without a sword at her side or armor nearby…but washing her hair would be a wonderful start.

And a _full meal_. Maker, she was constantly starving, and lately she had eaten even less than normal. Hungry as she was, she found all her food tasted worse than parchment, even when Morrigan cooked and the others dug in with delight. Food was too scarce, as well; they ate even the burnt or charred pieces that accidentally 'overheated.'

Still, she felt somewhat put out by how much Alistair managed to cram in his mouth, and it almost seemed like he was _watching_ her when she ate, and disapproving. She couldn't eat much less and make it through the day, so he would just have to take his opinions of how a proper lady should eat and shove it. Unless she was simply being paranoid about it, which would make sense. Food definitely occupied a significant amount of her thoughts lately. She dearly missed Nan's cooking.

Rollo bound ahead of the group, snuffling into the grass for a stick. His sudden freeze and growling coincided perfectly with Alistair's hissed, "_Darkspawn._" Avi still couldn't sense them, and it would bother her later. But at the moment, she drew her broadsword and waited, ignoring how her arms protested and her body ached.

There was shifting behind her; Morrigan moved behind the warriors while Leliana did the same, nearly bumping into each other trying to gain the ranged advantage and some elevation. They glared at each other, but at least knew better than to bicke. Sten was attempting to herd Avi back among them, a willful habit of hers she could not _stand_. Alistair was tryingto remain beside her, which hampered Sten's efforts and caused Avi to work hard to avoid collision.

Rollo howled; the darkspawn were upon them and they were a disorganized tangle.

Avi nearly took a blow to the head from Sten's backswing, ducking under and past him to engage the genlock that was busy fiddling with his dagger, mired in the draw with his crossbow. A clean swipe of the broadsword and it went down with a sick, wet gurgle, spraying her in the face with tainted blood. She ignored it. There were more darkspawn to face.

Leliana's arrows flew almost artfully, each punctuated with a line from the Canticle of Trials. "Maker, my enemies are abundant…" Eye socket. "Many are those who rise up against me…" Neck. "But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion…" Chest. "…Should they set themselves against me." A second through the shoulder to bring the one prior down.

Sten's incessant need to get in her way was pushing Avi over the edge, forcing her to watch both him and her enemy, and it was making her, and him, sloppy. It spilled over to Alistair, who was trying desperately to distract any and all who might rush past for the mage and archer. Rollo had his face buried muzzle-deep in a hurlock's neck, savagely tearing the creature apart.

Avi was in more danger from Sten than the darkspawn, as he placed himself bodily in front of her, forcing her to halt mid-swing. She could feel her muscles nearly tear apart in protest at the sudden reverse in movement, and in doing so she slipped in blood-slicked mud, scrambling to maintain her precious balance.

It was then that the shriek appeared, screaming, leaping at her with its ugly, serrated knives extended from its wrists, maw open wide to show the uneven dagger teeth. She flailed at it, unwilling to let the creature overwhelm her, swinging her pommel to knock it away. It took a step back, unsteady, and as she swung again it shattered.

It took Avi a moment to realize what had happened, before the presence of the ice that clung to the chunks registered. Morrigan had not halted there, and her hexes brought many darkspawn to their knees as the other warriors, Leliana and Rollo carved through them. Avi grit her teeth and rejoined the fray, her anger boiling over from the careless near-death.

In the end, the kill count totaled over twenty in all. Rollo had a gash along his side, shallow but ugly, smearing the kaddis. Alistair had a wrenched wrist from repeated pummeling with the shield, but was otherwise hale. Morrigan and Leliana had gained no injuries, and Sten seemed whole, despite lacking armor. Avi, however, was a mess, with a twisted ankle, a bloody (but thankfully not deep) stabbed side, and a bruised rib or two. The muscles in her arms felt like they were in tiny, flamingly painful pieces from the halted swing. And she was _furious_.

"What, _exactly_, did you think you were doing, Sten?" She hissed, stomping awkwardly, limping, up to the taller warrior. Maker, he was big. She only came up to Alistair's collar; with Sten she was down at his chest. The fact that this probably reduced her intimidation factor did nothing to improve her mood. "Would you care to explain why you suddenly felt the need to be so…_protective_ of me? You certainly didn't do so when those villagers attacked. Why now?"

"I was unaware at the time that you would throw yourself into the fray. Clearly, I was mistaken." The qunari soldier had no contempt in his voice, simply flat conversation.

"What in Andraste's bloody smallclothes would give you the impression that I would not fight in melee? Was it perhaps the enormous sword strapped to my back? Or maybe it was the armor I wore. These clearly indicate an archer, I suppose. Or merely a spectator, carrying your spare sword and shouting encouragement from the sidelines?" Avi was _furious_, and the pain-all-over was not helping matters.

"You are a woman. This means you cannot be a warrior." Sten stated, evenly. She, as well as Leliana and Morrigan, stared at him. Even Alistair looked bewildered. Rollo, for his part, merely gagged up darkspawn blood.

A quiet moment passed, then another. Finally, Avi took a slow, shaky breath. "I am going to assume this is something you were taught, from a very young age. This can be the only possible explanation for you _ignoring_ what is right in front of you." She shifted her weight, trying to ease the pain in her side. "What I will say is this: you gave your word to aid against the Blight. If you continue to herd me about the battlefield like some sheep or helpless maiden, _I will_ _kill you_. So fall in line like _the soldier you are_, and let me worry about whether or not what is between my legs affects what I kill with what's in my hands."

She turned to the rest of them, who were watching the conversation with surprise and a little bit of hesitation peppered in for flavor. Avi grimaced. "Let's find somewhere to camp. I have to tend to Rollo and myself." She shuffled over to where her pack was lying in the dirt; she hadn't even realized she'd dropped it at the battle's start.

Wordlessly, the group moved off the road, the qunari appraising the smallest Warden with a critical eye.

* * *

Avi still did not have her own tent. This made it quite difficult to find a private spot to struggle from her armor and dress her own wounds. Eventually, she hobbled over to Morrigan's distant area, pausing a healthy distance away to ask, "Could I bother you to share your camp space for a little while?"

The witch looked up at from preparing poultices, raising an eyebrow but gesturing to an empty spot by the fire. Avi did not sit; rather, she stood, slowly easing off the chainmail armor that was blood splattered and broken. It really, really needed repairs.

Morrigan handed her a poultice when the chain shirt was off, and Avi peeled back the thick linen padding she still wore to slather it on the knife wound at her side. The warm-cool nature of the poultice settled in, making her groan softly in relief. Everything else hurt, but at least there, in that one spot, she felt a little more whole.

"Thank you, Morrigan." She sighed, finally sitting. The other woman shrugged.

"'Tis simple enough, though I can foresee making many more if there are no spare healers at your Tower." Morrigan settled near, but not too near, the warrior, setting her staff to the side. Avi colored at the implication.

The two sat in companionable silence for a little while, the warden drifting off to stare in the fire, the witch cleaning up her crafting materials and stowing them away. Finally, Morrigan broke the silence. "Who is seeing to the hound?"

"Leliana took a look at it. Was more blood than cut, even if it is jagged and awful looking. She took him hunting with her." Avi responded, not looking away from the flames. She hoped they came back soon. She was miserably hungry. "Meaning I am the most worse for wear among our merry little band, and not at all proving my case to the qunari."

"Mmm. Well, if he is too blind to see that women _can_ fight, that is his own willful ignorance, and not your problem." Morrigan replied, lightly. Avi shook her head.

"At least one of these injuries are from him being stupid about it. Maybe more. It becomes my problem then. I feel like an absolute wreck; if we weren't heading towards a place full of magical healing, I would be worried." She rubbed her face, sighing. "Are you all right, over here, by yourself? Wouldn't it be safer nearer the camp?"

Morrigan seemed caught off-guard by the sudden change in conversation, unresponsive immediately. "I…I am quite all right. I am well practiced in safeguarding myself at night, though the concern is…appreciated."

"Mmm." Was Avi's only response. Groaning to her feet, she gave Morrigan a head nod. "Thank you for letting me borrow your privacy for a little while. I'll go see if anyone has made any headway on dinner."

"You are welcome here anytime, Warden." Morrigan replied, quietly, as Avi walked away. The other woman half-turned back.

"Thank you." There was the barest glimmer of a smile, before she continued on her way.

* * *

_Well, there's a little bit of action! I'm trying to give a feel of how disorganized I think it all is in the beginning. Also, Avi hasn't even thought to ask Alistair about changes with Grey Wardens yet, so she doesn't realize his concern over her eating is not that he's some jerk who thinks women shouldn't eat a whole lot, but rather that she should definitely be eating a whole lot more. There's reasons he hasn't said anything to her yet, though. I'm trying to mix things up a bit, and adjust more of the in-game conversations to be either 'off screen' and referred to later, or warped to fit the plot, such as with this most recent 'you are a woman you can't fight' conversation._

_I hope you're enjoying the story so far. I'm going to keep tweaking the plot as I go! The Tower storyline is going to be __**much different**__ and have a lot to do with my other story, 'Songbird.'_

_Read, Review, or Lurk! Or all of the above. :3_


	7. Chapter 7: They Grow Templars Tall

"Morrigan, Sten, I think you should stay here." Avi said quietly, hoping the pair would follow suit. Her headaches were much worse lately, and loud noises would do nothing to help her. They stood outside the local inn at Lake Calenhad, slightly distanced from Leliana, Alistair and Rollo, who were watching curiously.

"May I ask why that is?" Morrigan's arms crossed, her expression somewhat irritated. Sten said nothing, likely waiting for the reply.

"We should just be there a day at most; meanwhile you _are_ an apostate," Avi motioned to Morrigan, and watched her visibly bristle, "which will just cause even more issues if you're discovered, and I don't want to have to fight a tower full of templars to get you out." She turned to Sten, ignoring the witch's irritation. "You're not comfortable around mages without leashes on, so I would rather you stay here."

If she had not been looking so closely, she may have missed the subtle change in tenseness of the qunari. "If that is what you think is best."

"I do not like this idea, but if you believe it is necessary, then I shall do so." Morrigan scoffed. "Shall we camp in the wilderness while you have a warm bed, then?"

"Of course not." Avi frowned, mentally wincing as she went over the stock of coins in her head. The bandit attack the day prior had been somewhat fortuitous, at least, leaving them with some extra silver. She dug out two. "This should be enough for a night for both of you at that inn, there, the 'Spoiled Princess'…I'm assuming separate rooms." Handing money over to a foreigner and a woman who rarely left the Wilds seemed like a fiscal disaster, but not so disastrous as having to rescue Morrigan from templars, or vice versa.

"If Sten was inclined to share, I cannot say I would mind over much…" Morrigan responded slyly, waiting for a reaction from the hulking man. Avi did not want to know.

"Right. Er, I suppose we best get across then." Avi groaned, praying to the Maker as she turned on her heel that this was a good decision, and she would not return to find everything an absolute mess.

* * *

"Consider this request to be me merely being polite. You _will_ take us across the lake to the Tower." Avi crossed her arms in front of her, attempting to look imposing to this templar, taller and broader than her, blocking the dock and the only boat. He had obstinately refused to be of any assistance whatsoever since the group had approached, and was rapidly wearing on her last nerve. It would have taken less time to simply craft their own boat, rather than wait on this idiot.

"My orders were not to let anyone across, and I'm not going to." The daft templar huffed. He seemed to be quite enjoying having the upper hand in the conversation. Judging by his demeanor and relative intelligence, it was not a position he was in often and he was going to milk it.

"Look, the Grey Warden treaties compel the mages—" Alistair started, before he was interrupted.

"Well, I'm not a mage, am I? And how do I know you're a Grey Warden? I could write up notes saying I was the Queen of Antiva." The templar apparently found this to be rather clever. Avi looked over the side of the pier, gauging the depth of the water.

"Surely there is some compromise we could reach?" Leliana ventured, mouth pursed in frustration. Avi took a step to the side, looking for all the world as if she was considering the possibilities.

The templar seemed to straighten slightly. "Well, er, how about the other two and the dog go across and maybe you keep me company?" He said this with an odd air of innocence that didn't match the obvious intent. "You're very pretty, and I don't often get to—"

Avi took her chance, inwardly disgusted by the man's simple motives. With one violent, sudden lunge, she threw herself sideways into the templar, knocking him off balance and over the side of the pier. He crashed rather painfully into waist-deep muddy water. As he scrambled futiley to get up, sputtering something about royalty and manners, high treason and _get off my dock_, Avi gestured to her companions.

"On the boat, quickly, please." Rollo was the first to board, as usual with no disturbance passing over his happy dog-face. The rest quickly followed, Avi kicking off the dock before the templar had managed to even make it to shore.

"That was a little overboard, wasn't it?" Alistair asked nervously. His fellow warden fixed him in her icy-blue eyes.

"Not nearly so much as that pun." Before giving him a chance to explain that it wasn't on purpose, she moved smoothly into, "What was wrong with him?"

The man hesitated. "…Lyrium-addled, likely. He didn't look old enough but…some don't take to it well." Alistair's voice had gotten quiet, and the two women in the boat looked at him in sudden interest. Embarrassed to be the center of attention, he ran his hand through his hair and back down to rub at his neck awkwardly. "The…the chantry tells templars that their abilities are enhanced through lyrium, and gets them addicted to it. I don't know if it's true, since I've always been able to smite effectively without it."

There was an awkward quiet, as the implications sunk in.

"You were raised in the chantry, then, Alistair?" Leliana asked, perhaps to cover the silence or maybe out of genuine interest. Avi floundered slightly with the oars, never having rowed before, and Rollo let out a displeased whine.

"I suppose you could say that. I would prefer to believe I was raised by flying dogs from the Anderfels. Far more exciting." He flashed her a smile, which floundered at her disapproving frown. "I was schooled in the chantry, yes, and was supposed to be a templar. Duncan saved me from that by making me a Grey Warden."

"Flying dogs would be far less depressing…" Avi mumbled, finally getting the oars in working rhythm. Rollo agreed.

"That's why I prefer it." Alistair flashed the woman a smile, but she missed it. He sighed in frustration.

The boat ride was thankfully short. Avi was feeling already tired by the end of it, and was grateful for Rollo's eagerness to pull it to the dock, rope secured between his teeth.

There were no guards on the outside of the doors, but they were large, and solid, and likely very heavy. Avi hesitated at them, not quite knowing why. Taking the pommel of her greatsword, she swung it hard, twice, against the tough metal, making echoing bangs and leaving dents. That should serve to get their attention.

It was several minutes later when the doors began creaking open, pushed by two templars on one side. She didn't wait for them to greet her, or even open it entirely; she ducked inside the opening as soon as it was wide enough, and the others quickly followed her, to the merry tune of "Hey, you can't just—"

"Where's your First Enchanter?" Avi asked, cutting them off. Everything seemed to be in complete chaos. Templars were running around the small lobby, many injured. A few mages here and there were arguing with each other, with templars, or healing the wounded. "…What in Thedas is going on?"

"Who are you? The message to Denerim could not have arrived so quickly…but then, you are also not templars." A man with a gray beard and exhausted face came forward, flanked by two other men in mage-killer uniform. He looked old enough to be her father, and that alone made Avi straighten her spine slightly, and remove the temper from her voice.

"We are Grey Wardens and companions. We have treaties which compel aid against the Blight." Her tone was clipped, but respectful, yet was not repaid in kind.

"Despite your right to it, it just cannot be done." He was restless, shifting from foot to foot, needing to get back into action. "We have a..situation."

"You are?" She asked, foregoing the situation for the moment. No point in talking to another 'Queen of Antiva' if she could help it.

"Knight Commander Greagoir."

"Right. Can you explain the 'situation' quickly, then?" The irritation leaked back into her voice, eyes flickering to her companions momentarily. Alistair seemed nervous, while Leliana was unconcerned, keeping a shrewd eye on the proceedings. Rollo was apparently excited for wonderful, new, magicky smells and wanted very much to sniff them.

"The tower is lost to us. Abominations run rampant, and those who are not dead are most certainly under their thrall, or will be soon." Greagoir replied, apparently as annoyed as Avi. "We were forced to barricade them inside last night."

"…Isn't it your duty to deal with…_this_?" Avi waved a hand, encompassing the room, her temper flaring and her headache pounding harder. "Did you simply run away?"

"We were overwhelmed. I saved who I could and have sent away to Denerim for reinforcements and permission to Annul the Tower." He snapped. Avi didn't bother asking what that meant; she could always get it from Alistair later. What was important was that her mages, sworn to help her and Alistair against the Blight, were currently trapped with demons.

"And this was just last night? Certainly some survived; mages and templars are not helpless." She argued. "We will deal with this."

"We'll _what_?" Alistair asked. She glared at him. "You _are_ serious, then. Maker help us, a Tower full of abominations." He pulled out her shield, his shield, and strapped it to his arm. "And here we were all counting on a full meal and a hot bath. Morrigan and Sten got the better end of the bargain after all."

"The three of you—" Rollo barked angrily at this, but the Knight Commander ignored him and moved on, "—cannot hope to stand against what is trapped inside there. If you go in, you are not coming out."

"We'll see. An abomination cannot be much worse than an ogre." Avi growled. She wasn't bothering to think this through; she was working with anger. "Point us to where we can get provisions, and where we go in, and we shall deal with your problem. And if there are no mages left for us, I expect your templars to fulfill the treaties, since your inaction led to the loss of the greatest power in Ferelden." She had her arms crossed, waiting imperiously, somehow managing the expression despite being, again, shorter than the man in front of her. Templars were too damn tall.

"…Very well." Greagoir sighed. "The quartermaster is there, and he will spare what we can." He signaled to one of the men at his side, who strode over to relay the instructions. "Once you go in, I will not reopen those doors unless everyone in the Tower is dead, the First Enchanter himself is brought back, or I enter with my Templars for the Rite of Annulment. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Avi turned to the others. "Alistair, Leliana, Rollo, let's go. We don't have time to go back for Morrigan and Sten." She began moving towards the quartermaster, determined to pull far more than was able to be 'spared.'

"We're taking on an entire tower full of demons and possessed mages and templars, with two Grey Wardens, a lay sister, and a dog." Alistair muttered good-naturedly. "Well, I did think those bandit attacks and random darkspawn parties were getting too dull…"

"Glad I could provide." Avi replied darkly.

* * *

_I am so unhappy with this chapter. I rewrote it about three times, and still. Not super pleased. I hope it's acceptable, and we'll move into the Tower next chapter. Only thing keeping me sane while I wait on DAII!_

_Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews! And thank you for your patience. :)_


	8. Chapter 8: Idiot Crybaby

The first floor was full of blood and bodies and broken furniture, scraps of paper scribbling useless information, lecture notes and silly caricatures of templars and mages. There were signs of struggle everywhere, scorch marks and death, shattered staves and dented templar helms, but there was nothing to fight or rescue. It was eerie, and Avi did not like it at all.

"If it was so bad they had to bar the door, where is everyone? They can't have killed each other off in just one night." Alistair murmured. He was subdued now, eyes flinching away from small, huddled corpses that at one time were children. Recalling Oren, Avi was trying valiantly not to throw up. Leliana whispered prayers under her breath, tears shining in the corners of her eyes. Rollo's hackles were up, but he wasn't growling, nor indicating a threat. The air felt thick and weird and tangy, making everyone jittery.

"I…I need a moment." Avi leaned against the wall. Dizziness had overcome her for a moment, as well as a painful throat lock and the realization that she couldn't deal with this much death so often. It was taking all her effort to stay standing and not just sink to the floor. What had she been thinking, saying the four of them would reclaim the Tower? What could they do that a contingent of templars and an entire Circle of mages could not?

"Are you all right?" Alistair was there at her side, and she felt his hands slide to support her, one at her shoulder and another at her side, steadying her. It was a physical kind of comfort that she had been used to at home, but had not experienced in a good while, and the revelation was not overly welcome. She felt her eyes well up, and she fought it back down, even as Rollo whined in concern and Leliana stood by, in case Alistair needed a hand with her.

"…Let's keep moving." Avi mumbled, unconvincingly. She gave him an awkward half-smile. "I'm fine." He didn't seem to believe her, but thankfully didn't argue. So they continued on, and she ignored that she had been so close to emotional collapse.

They went through room by room, finding nothing and no one alive or abominable, and it was beginning to wear on the group. The atmosphere was oppressive and the constant twitching of nerves was wreaking havoc on Avi's headache. She wished demons would just _attack_ already, so she could quit jumping at every little sound. It would also be a nice distraction from earlier.

It was only as they neared the other side of the circular hallway that they heard any commotion at all. Magic hung heavy in the air, and the shouts and cries of people along with something incredibly _unnatural_ spurred Avi and her party into a run. Their weapons came free and Rollo's teeth bared, and they barreled into the room full of templars, mages, children and…

It looked like molten lava, and gave off so much heat Avi's eyes immediately watered. It washed over a templar and he screamed, short and cut off as it smothered him. Children wailed and cried, clutching the robes of mages as the thing surged towards them. The Wardens were too far away, and Leliana was still drawing her bow.

Then there was a flash of magic and ice on the creature, and it shattered from a sword blows executed in tandem. Avi skidded to a halt, the danger past before she could help, as the room turned in unison towards them.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Demanded an elder mage, the one who had cast the spell on the demon that felled it. Avi recalled her from somewhere, as if she'd seen the woman in passing somewhere, but couldn't remember exactly where or when. Not that it particularly mattered at this moment.

"I am Avi, a Grey Warden. This is Alistair, Leliana and Rollo." She said quickly, more out of breath than she had expected. "We convinced Greagoir to let us in so that we could clear the Tower of abominations."

"Greagoir barred the door on us! What does he care?" A templar spat, his helm disguising his face. Avi could only offer a shrug.

"He thought you all dead. I'm here to save who I can, in return for aid against the Blight." They were wasting time talking about it. Her eyes focused on the newly erected, shimmering barrier. "Can you open that shield to allow us through?"

"Just a moment, young lady." The elder mage commanded. Avi bristled at the tone. "You aren't saving anyone in the condition you're in."

That gave her pause. "What are you talking about?" She had a headache, that was it. The fatigue couldn't really be helped in this situation. Nor her emotional instability, but even a mage couldn't tell _that_…could she?

"Minor concussions, sprained joints, weak or torn muscles, malnourishment…" The woman began listing them off, arms crossed in front of her. She focused on Avi, then, "And _you_ are on the cusp of starvation."

"_What_?" Alistair nearly roared, turning to Avi accusingly. "I _knew_ you weren't eating enough! And after that collapse in the hall, I thought…" He whipped around his own pack and began digging into it, dragging out rations and forcing them into the stunned woman's hand. "Eat those, now. All of them."

"Alistair, we don't have enough to just—" She started to protest, and from the combined glare of _everyone in the room_, even her dog and the children, she began to resentfully chew on the tough, dried meat. At least she could be thankful he didn't believe she'd been close to breaking down into tears out in the hallway. Between mouthfuls, she groused, "If you knew I wasn't eating enough, why didn't you say anything?"

"I figured if you were hungry you would have said _something_." He snapped. He was actually angry with her! "Grey Wardens need to eat far more than most people as it is, and you were eating less. I only thought, well, maybe it affected women differently, because you never let on that you were hungry." He looked more than angry; he looked _disappointed_. "I can't believe you would let it get this far."

"Can you stop lecturing me in front of strangers?" Avi hissed. It wasn't really better that he thought her an idiot instead of a crybaby, truth be told. "Strangers we're supposed to be rescuing?" Leliana was looking over the children who had gathered around Rollo, soothing them with quiet reassurances and a short story. The elder mage had disengaged to speak to some of her fellows.

"Just…never do this again, Avi. If we have to take a day off so we can hunt some more, we can do that. It's no good force-marching from place to place if you're about ready to drop at the end." Alistair half-pleaded, half-commanded. She sighed, ripping another chunk off the ration.

"Yes. Fine."

"Good." He relaxed slightly. "Now, let's get back to this whole demon-killing-thing." His face cracked into a smile, and she had the distinct impression he was trying to keep her from getting mad at him for getting mad at her. She immediately halted that train of thought; it was only going to make her head pound to try and figure out.

"Not yet, young man." The woman came back, two mages at her back. "Petra, Kinnon, please help me heal them up. They will need it, if we are to face the demons in the Tower."

"…We?" Avi asked, almost flinching away from the touch of the unknown mage. As the soothing coolness of the healing magic seeped into her muscles and cleared away her headache, however, she nearly collapsed in relief. It was like warm water mixed with a massage and many fluffy, comforting pillows, and it felt like mint on her tongue.

"Yes. I am going with you." The elder mage replied easily. "My name is Wynne, and I am a senior enchanter of the Circle." It was obvious she was used to being listened to.

"Wynne, you cannot be serious. Let someone else go. Someone—" A templar began, voice rough and warbling in an attempt to imitate the authority the older woman had displayed so easily the moment before. Wynne cut him off with a self-confident smile.

"Someone younger? We are dealing with demons, Ser Tam, and I would not have any of you exposed to their temptations." Wynne exuded confidence, and the templar voiced no other disagreements. "You will be needed here, to help protect these mages from any demons and abominations who may escape us, and to help care for any survivors we find."

"Are you up to it?" Avi asked, struggling to keep herself from begging to stay behind and bask in the wonderful feeling of being healed. If they could throw in a hot bath, she would never, ever leave. Alistair foisted another strip of dried meat on her, and she reluctantly began eating again.

"I'm not half-starved and suffering from old wounds, if that's what you're asking." Wynne _smirked_ at her, something old ladies just shouldn't _do_, and Avi scowled in irritation. She had a point. "Besides, I know this tower. Better to not tamper with things that should not be touched, and to keep from getting lost."

"It would be good to have you along." Leliana affirmed, returning to the group, hand clasping the smaller one of a child. Rollo barked his assent, two children on his back. Alistair was eager as well, if one could tell by his face (and it was always easy to tell by his face).

"…What kind of magic are you adept in?" Avi asked slowly. _Please say healer, please say healer, please say healer…_

"Earth is my element," Wynne began, and Avi's face fell immediately, "but I am primarily a healer." The Warden brightened considerably at that.

"Then absolutely, please, come." She said with far more enthusiasm and far less anger than she had exhibited in many days. Leliana giggled, and Alistair laughed. She frowned at them. "What?"

"You must be so relieved that someone else can care for your cracked skulls, yes?" Leliana snickered. "Alistair, he is a little rough, and you always look so silly with your hair covered in bandages." She covered her mouth with her hand, grinning impishly. Alistair rubbed a hand over his hair, sheepish.

Avi chose not to respond. Instead, she rounded on her dog. "Rollo, you need to leave them here." He whuffed at her, as if it was obvious that he needed to do that and he would do so when they were leaving, and not a moment before. "We're leaving now." He snorted, easing to the ground so the magelings could clamber off.

"Yes, best not to wait any longer." Wynne agreed. Avi found herself suddenly rather annoyed that the old lady was taking command. Odd enough that she would object, when before she would have given anything to not be responsible for all of this. Still, they needed a guide and a healer, and they probably had no choice in the matter; it didn't seem as if anyone would stand up to her who could fulfill both those roles, and she had determined to go.

As the barrier was dispelled and they stepped through the threshold, Avi couldn't help but feel a little more confident, at least. Her wounds were healed, there was food in her stomach, and they had along someone with a good idea of what needed to be done. It couldn't last, certainly, but for now it was nice to have at least _something_ go right.

* * *

_Thanks everyone who has read, alerted, fav'd and reviewed. You guys are what keep me going._

_As a reminder, the Tower is going to be very different and coincide with events that are going to occur in "Songbird," my Solona Amell fic. Some main differences from the game include more mixed survivors; I always thought it awkward that only templars were able to run and get outside the doors before they were barred, and only mages were alive and trapped on the inside (besides Cullen), when they should have been evenly spread throughout the Tower, patrolling etc. Also, since Avi went right to the Tower after Lothering, that doesn't allow much time for Uldred's posse to wreak too much havoc (hence the 'night before' line)._

_That's not everything that's going to be different, just a general overview of why there's templars in that room, etc., to alleviate some possible confusion. I hope you enjoyed, and I'll try to get another chapter out soon! While you're waiting, feel free to check out Songbird and my DA2!Anders fic, No Second Chances._


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